Around the World in Eighty Days

Chapter XIX

In which Passepartout takes a too great interest in his master, and
what comes of it

Hong kong is an island which came into
the possession of the English by the Treaty of Nankin, after the war of
1842; and the colonising genius of the English has created upon it an
important city and an excellent port. The island is situated at the mouth
of the Canton River, and is separated by about sixty miles from the
Portuguese town of Macao, on the opposite coast. Hong Kong has beaten
Macao in the struggle for the Chinese trade, and now the greater part of
the transportation of Chinese goods finds its dépôt at the former place.
Docks, hospitals, wharves, a Gothic cathedral, a government house,
macadamised streets, give to Hong Kong the appearance of a town in Kent
or Surrey transferred by some strange magic to the antipodes.

Passepartout noticed a number of the natives...

Passepartout wandered, with his hands in his pockets, towards the
Victoria port, gazing as he went at the curious palanquins and other
modes of conveyance, and the groups of Chinese, Japanese, and Europeans
who passed to and fro in the streets. Hong Kong seemed to him not unlike
Bombay, Calcutta, and Singapore, since, like them, it betrayed everywhere
the evidence of English supremacy. At the Victoria port he found a
confused mass of ships of all nations: English, French, American, and
Dutch, men-of-war and trading vessels, Japanese and Chinese junks,
sempas, tankas, and flower-boats, which formed so many floating
parterres. Passepartout noticed in the crowd a number of the natives who
seemed very old and were dressed in yellow. On going into a barber’s to
get shaved he learned that these ancient men were all at least eighty
years old, at which age they are permitted to wear yellow, which is the
Imperial colour. Passepartout, without exactly knowing why, thought this
very funny.

On reaching the quay where they were to embark on the Carnatic, he
was not astonished to find Fix walking up and down. The detective seemed
very much disturbed and disappointed.

“This is bad,” muttered Passepartout, “for the gentlemen of the Reform
Club!” He accosted Fix with a merry smile, as if he had not perceived
that gentleman’s chagrin. The detective had, indeed, good reasons to
inveigh against the bad luck which pursued him. The warrant had not come!
It was certainly on the way, but as certainly it could not now reach Hong
Kong for several days; and, this being the last English territory on Mr.
Fogg’s route, the robber would escape, unless he could manage to detain
him.

“Well, Monsieur Fix,” said Passepartout, “have you decided to go with us
so far as America?”

They entered the steamer office and secured cabins for four persons. The
clerk, as he gave them the tickets, informed them that, the repairs on
the Carnatic having been completed, the steamer would leave that
very evening, and not next morning, as had been announced.

“That will suit my master all the better,” said Passepartout. “I will go
and let him know.”

Fix now decided to make a bold move; he resolved to tell Passepartout
all. It seemed to be the only possible means of keeping Phileas Fogg
several days longer at Hong Kong. He accordingly invited his companion
into a tavern which caught his eye on the quay. On entering, they found
themselves in a large room handsomely decorated, at the end of which was
a large camp-bed furnished with cushions. Several persons lay upon this
bed in a deep sleep. At the small tables which were arranged about the
room some thirty customers were drinking English beer, porter, gin, and
brandy; smoking, the while, long red clay pipes stuffed with little balls
of opium mingled with essence of rose. From time to time one of the
smokers, overcome with the narcotic, would slip under the table,
whereupon the waiters, taking him by the head and feet, carried and laid
him upon the bed. The bed already supported twenty of these stupefied
sots.

Fix and Passepartout saw that they were in a smoking-house haunted by
those wretched, cadaverous, idiotic creatures to whom the English
merchants sell every year the miserable drug called opium, to the amount
of one million four hundred thousand pounds— thousands devoted to one of
the most despicable vices which afflict humanity! The Chinese government
has in vain attempted to deal with the evil by stringent laws. It passed
gradually from the rich, to whom it was at first exclusively reserved, to
the lower classes, and then its ravages could not be arrested. Opium is
smoked everywhere, at all times, by men and women, in the Celestial
Empire; and, once accustomed to it, the victims cannot dispense with it,
except by suffering horrible bodily contortions and agonies. A great
smoker can smoke as many as eight pipes a day; but he dies in five years.
It was in one of these dens that Fix and Passepartout, in search of a
friendly glass, found themselves. Passepartout had no money, but
willingly accepted Fix’s invitation in the hope of returning the
obligation at some future time.

They ordered two bottles of port, to which the Frenchman did ample
justice, whilst Fix observed him with close attention. They chatted about
the journey, and Passepartout was especially merry at the idea that Fix
was going to continue it with them. When the bottles were empty, however,
he rose to go and tell his master of the change in the time of the
sailing of the Carnatic.

Fix caught him by the arm, and said, “Wait a moment.”

“What for, Mr. Fix?”

“I want to have a serious talk with you.”

“A serious talk!” cried Passepartout, drinking up the little wine that
was left in the bottom of his glass. “Well, we’ll talk about it
to-morrow; I haven’t time now.”

“Stay! What I have to say concerns your master.”

Passepartout, at this, looked attentively at his companion. Fix’s face
seemed to have a singular expression. He resumed his seat.

“What is it that you have to say?”

Fix placed his hand upon Passepartout’s arm, and, lowering his voice,
said, “You have guessed who I am?”

“Parbleu!” said Passepartout, smiling.

“Then I’m going to tell you everything—”

“Now that I know everything, my friend! Ah! that’s very good. But go on,
go on. First, though, let me tell you that those gentlemen have put
themselves to a useless expense.”

“Useless!” said Fix. “You speak confidently. It’s clear that you don’t
know how large the sum is.”

“Of course I do,” returned Passepartout. “Twenty thousand pounds.”

“Fifty-five thousand!” answered Fix, pressing his companion’s hand.

“What!” cried the Frenchman. “Has Monsieur Fogg dared— fifty-five
thousand pounds! Well, there’s all the more reason for not losing an
instant,” he continued, getting up hastily.

Fix pushed Passepartout back in his chair, and resumed: “Fifty-five
thousand pounds; and if I succeed, I get two thousand pounds. If you’ll
help me, I’ll let you have five hundred of them.”

“Help you?” cried Passepartout, whose eyes were standing wide open.

“Yes; help me keep Mr. Fogg here for two or three days.”

“Why, what are you saying? Those gentlemen are not satisfied with
following my master and suspecting his honour, but they must try to put
obstacles in his way! I blush for them!”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that it is a piece of shameful trickery. They might as well
waylay Mr. Fogg and put his money in their pockets!”

“That’s just what we count on doing.”

“It’s a conspiracy, then,” cried Passepartout, who became more and more
excited as the liquor mounted in his head, for he drank without
perceiving it. “A real conspiracy! And gentlemen, too. Bah!”

Fix began to be puzzled.

“Members of the Reform Club!” continued Passepartout. “You must know,
Monsieur Fix, that my master is an honest man, and that, when he makes a
wager, he tries to win it fairly!”

“But who do you think I am?” asked Fix, looking at him intently.

“Parbleu! An agent of the members of the Reform Club, sent out
here to interrupt my master’s journey. But, though I found you out some
time ago, I’ve taken good care to say nothing about it to Mr. Fogg.”

“He knows nothing, then?”

“Nothing,” replied Passepartout, again emptying his glass.

The detective passed his hand across his forehead, hesitating before he
spoke again. What should he do? Passepartout’s mistake seemed sincere,
but it made his design more difficult. It was evident that the servant
was not the master’s accomplice, as Fix had been inclined to suspect.

“Well,” said the detective to himself, “as he is not an accomplice, he
will help me.”

He had no time to lose: Fogg must be detained at Hong Kong, so he
resolved to make a clean breast of it.

“Lisen to me,” said Fix abruptly.

“Listen to me,” said Fix abruptly. “I am not, as you think, an agent of
the members of the Reform Club—”

“Bah!” retorted Passepartout, with an air of raillery.

“I am a police detective, sent out here by the London office.”

“You, a detective?”

“I will prove it. Here is my commission.”

Passepartout was speechless with astonishment when Fix displayed this
document, the genuineness of which could not be doubted.

“Mr. Fogg’s wager,” resumed Fix, “is only a pretext, of which you and the
gentlemen of the Reform are dupes. He had a motive for securing your
innocent complicity.”

“But why?”

“Listen. On the 28th of last September a robbery of fifty-five thousand
pounds was committed at the Bank of England by a person whose description
was fortunately secured. Here is his description; it answers exactly to
that of Mr. Phileas Fogg.”

“What nonsense!” cried Passepartout, striking the table with his fist.
“My master is the most honourable of men!”

“How can you tell? You know scarcely anything about him. You went into
his service the day he came away; and he came away on a foolish pretext,
without trunks, and carrying a large amount in banknotes. And yet you are
bold enough to assert that he is an honest man!”

“Yes, yes,” repeated the poor fellow, mechanically.

“Would you like to be arrested as his accomplice?”

Passepartout, overcome by what he had heard, held his head between his
hands, and did not dare to look at the detective. Phileas Fogg, the
saviour of Aouda, that brave and generous man, a robber! And yet how many
presumptions there were against him! Passepartout essayed to reject the
suspicions which forced themselves upon his mind; he did not wish to
believe that his master was guilty.

“Well, what do you want of me?” said he, at last, with an effort.

“See here,” replied Fix; “I have tracked Mr. Fogg to this place, but as
yet I have failed to receive the warrant of arrest for which I sent to
London. You must help me to keep him here in Hong Kong—”

“I! But I—”

“I will share with you the two thousand pounds reward offered by the Bank
of England.”

“Never!” replied Passepartout, who tried to rise, but fell back,
exhausted in mind and body.

“Mr. Fix,” he stammered, “even should what you say be true— if my master
is really the robber you are seeking for—which I deny— I have been, am,
in his service; I have seen his generosity and goodness; and I will never
betray him—not for all the gold in the world. I come from a village where
they don’t eat that kind of bread!”

“You refuse?”

“I refuse.”

“Consider that I’ve said nothing,” said Fix; “and let us drink.”

“Yes; let us drink!”

Passepartout felt himself yielding more and more to the effects of the
liquor. Fix, seeing that he must, at all hazards, be separated from his
master, wished to entirely overcome him. Some pipes full of opium lay
upon the table. Fix slipped one into Passepartout’s hand. He took it, put
it between his lips, lit it, drew several puffs, and his head, becoming
heavy under the influence of the narcotic, fell upon the table.

“At last!” said Fix, seeing Passepartout unconscious. “Mr. Fogg will not
be informed of the Carnatic’s departure; and, if he is, he will
have to go without this cursed Frenchman!”